


Crouching Tiger, Hidden Moran

by timtom



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: But cute teasing, Crime, Flirting, Fluff, Humour, In which the police are quite pathetic, Random policemen, at least that one is, mormor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-16
Updated: 2013-02-16
Packaged: 2017-11-29 11:42:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/686578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/timtom/pseuds/timtom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sebastian Moran at the end of the day, still worked for Jim Moriarty, and as capable as he was, the criminal mastermind did still need protection when his hands are tied (literally). In short, don't mess with Jim Moriarty, because Sebastian is never really far away.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crouching Tiger, Hidden Moran

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this because of a prompt lifecrystals.tumblr.com did for a picture
> 
> http://grandmoff.tumblr.com/post/54596647163/taggianto-lifecrystals-jim-who-are-you
> 
> go stalk her
> 
> and maybe me i don't mind

At some point, Jim Moriarty decided he would like to be a king.

Not a king in the sense that he would have control over the losing of limbs and ultimately lives as well as the entire treasury of the town, though he bet what he was wearing right now that he could do that better than any man. No, Jim wanted to be a king in that he wanted the idolization that every king was adorned with. He wanted to be beloved by his people, but more specifically, one other person; his queen. Jim smiled as he imagined Sebastian’s face if he ever heard those words.

Jim felt like that now, perched atop that throne like a bird of prey embellished with the crown, placed so gingerly upon his head. He waved the sceptre around bashfully, the broken glass tinkling as he rearranged his feet. God ordinary people were boring, and slow. How long had he been sitting here, waiting? Posing was exhausting, he noted. If Sherlock were a police officer this would’ve been much more exciting.

But then again being a freelance is what gave him his utterly bold deductions – liberty will be the death of us, Jim chuckled.

The overture from Gioachino Rossini's La gazza ladra drew beautifully to a close, and the police burst through the door. Finally, Jim thought, a wan smile playing on his lips.

“You’re under arrest! Put your hands in the air!” The policeman shrieked. Jim yawned internally.

Bored.

He obediently hopped from the shattered display case, hands raised in a rather grand forfeit. The distinct mastermind smile slid across his face, and the policeman timidly shackled him up.

“R-right. Come with me.” He gave a rather hard shove. Jim scowled.

“Don’t you think you should put the crown jewels back first?” He murmured in that thick drawl of Irish. The man stopped, glanced back at the destroyed glass casing, then back at the crown, the ermine speckled cape and the jewel encrusted sceptre.

“Of – of course.” He wretched the stick from Jim’s hands and untied the cape. He didn’t really know how they were laid out before – the uneducated pig – so he just placed them on the floor. By the time he got up and turned around Jim had already taken off the crown and was holding it out, the boredom nearly ripping free from his face and becoming a whole other entity.

The man took it, stiffly placed it on top of the pile, and returned to push Jim out. Jim sighed and led the way. There were several – unneeded – police cars parked there, and all eyes were one him. God Jim loved this feeling.

“Boss are you okay?” Sebastian’s voice drifted from the MP3 player. The ear buds were still in, and the police were god too bothered by just how he pulled off this stunt to notice. Jim smiled at the ground discretely.

“Of course Sebby, daddy had a grand time.”

This was replied with a soft chuckle. “How grand?”

“Oh the grandest. I mean, honey. You should _see_ me in a crown.” Jim mentally noted that this relayed the pattern of breathing that either meant Sebastian was temptingly aroused or shamelessly happy.

“In _just_ a crown, maybe.” Jim could almost hear him smile. I should try that on Sherlock, Jim thought.

“Hey! Take those out!” Another police officer ripped the MP3 from his ears, jerking it out of his pocket and shoved it in his own. Jim made a mental note to have Sebby skin him alive.

“Let’s go, crazy man.” The original police officer said, guiding him into a police car. Before his head ducked under, Jim looked up, up at the roof of that building opposite, where the glint of a sniper rifle’s telescopic sight was just visible.

Crouching tiger, hidden Moran.


End file.
